And There Is No One With Whom I Would Rather
by Citizenjess
Summary: During a temporary reprieve while running for their lives in the Savage Land, Charles watches Magneto sleep, and ponders the implications of them being there together. Set during the "Reunion" two-parter from the original animated series.


Summary: During a temporary reprieve while running for their lives in the Savage Land, Charles watches Magneto sleep, and ponders the implications of them being there together. Set during the "Reunion" two-parter from the original animated series. Also, for a similar motif (i.e.: Mags and Charles hiding out together before the mutates capture them), I highly recommend andrastewhite's 'fic, "Close Enemies"; think of this as a bit of an homage, even. Title is from the song "Two Lost Souls" from the "Damn Yankees" musical.

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><p><strong>And There Is No One With Whom I Would Rather<strong>

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><p>The ground of the small cave they've found shelter in momentarily is rock hard, but it's dry, and Charles can almost forgive waking up with a crick in his neck, given that he's waking up at all. Trapped in the wilds of the Savage Land, muggy even as the creatures that call the place home sleep, he can't help but be grateful for small favors - namely, that they have not yet been captured by the band of mutates that seem intent on hunting them down. Charles has several questions about the nature of said mutates, and about this strange place, in general, but so far, they have been less than satisfactorily answered.<p>

A soft grunt brings him out of his reverie. Sitting up and stretching, his gaze falls upon the soft-looking mop of hair that mostly obscures his sole companion's still-sleeping face. Instinctively, he seeks the other man with his mind, only to be sorely reminded that, in fact, his mutant powers are of no use to him here. On the other hand, for some equally strange reason, he can walk again. It's lonely without his telepathy, in truth; he's used to simply calling it to him like a reflex, a sixth sense that has been honed far beyond any of the others.

In any case, in its wake, he settles for reaching out a hand and brushing a stray lock of hair from Magneto's forehead. His helmet lays scant feet away - Charles supposes he has no need to protect whatever errant thoughts he feels he must hide at this point. Magneto remains fully dressed otherwise, save for his cape, which he'd draped awkwardly lengthwise across his and Charles' midsections as they'd tucked in, back-to-back. His mouth is slightly parted, the rise and fall of his chest steady; he is, for once, seemingly at peace, and Charles finds that he enjoys seeing it.

For a moment, he is transported back in time, back to another place, back when waking up next to Erik Magnus Lehnsherr would have been a rather commonplace occurrence, the rule rather than the exception. Charles knows precisely how it feels to pillow his head against that broad chest; he knows the exact texture of Magneto's lips, knows the perfect amount of pressure to apply while sealing his own mouth over them, and knows exactly how hard to tug at Magneto's wild mane to make those low, guttural, appreciative noises pour from the back of his throat. He has knowledge of Erik's body at least as well as he knows his own, though there are rules, boundaries keeping him from applying it now, and this is what makes watching Erik sleep on this particular occasion a guilt-inducing activity, more than it ever used to be.

Fortunately, perhaps, Magneto stirs shortly after that, and Charles draws his fingers away contritely. "How long have you been watching me sleep, Xavier?" Magneto rumbles softly, and Charles smiles a little.

"Not long." He wiggles his toes, watching Magneto slide into a sitting position himself. The cape-cum-blanket slides fully onto the dirt floor, and Charles picks it up, resisting the urge to press it against his face and inhale Magneto's scent. "Did you have a decent rest?" he asks, and Magneto shrugs.

"I've had worse. What about you?"

As if on cue, a pang shoots through Charles' neck. He winces. "I've had better," he admits ruefully, and Magneto chuckles. Then, before Charles can protest too much ("it's all right, I'm fine, I didn't mean - ohhh, that's, that is wonderful, Magnus"), Magneto is kneeling behind him, large hands rubbing all of the kinks out of Charles' upper body with a masterful technique that Charles hopes to learn to duplicate some day. "I must admit," he offers, trying to keep the peace, "if I had to hand-pick a companion for this adventure, I'm glad it's you."

Magneto's hands still. "I feel the same way," he murmurs after a long pause. More silence stretches between them, until Charles decides that there's no time like the present to attempt to collect information.

"Can I ask you something?"

Magneto's eyebrow quirks. "Haven't you just done that?"

Charles rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean."

Magneto chuckles, clapping Charles lightly on the shoulder before dropping his arm completely; Charles tries not to mourn the loss of touch. "Go ahead," the currently-depowered Master of Magnetism tells him, and Charles nods and takes a deep breath.

"I just ... I wanted to know ..." He curses himself for his sudden lack of articulation, certain it has everything to do with the loss of his powers, and not in the least because discussing his feelings for Magneto makes him feel as though he has the emotional maturity of some of his youngest students, but plows ahead nonetheless. "Why did you come after me, Magnus?" he finally gets out, watching Magneto's face harden. "What was your motivation? We're just ... we're not precisely friends these days," he finishes lamely.

Magneto's gaze is stony. "I have to have a motivation now?" he asks, and suddenly, all of his hard work on Charles' shoulders and back seems for naught. Glowering, now, Magneto points a gloved finger at him. "And what of you, Charles? Explain to me your great, lofty reason for coming out here; unarmed, without even your rag-tag crew of loyal X-Men along for the ride. Whatever is your rationale for that?"

"I ..." Charles trails off. He looks down at his hands. Behind him, Magneto stands and paces a little. "I suppose," Charles says quietly, "the thought of you gravely injured, or worse, seemed an unbearable possibility to me. I would do a great many things to prevent it." He hopes that Magneto won't push the point about not bringing his students along; he's not sure he has a proper explanation for that. Even the fact that Magneto had had a hand in rescuing him from certain death at the hands of the Sentinels does not seem to fully excuse his rushing off to Antarctica to rescue the man who had tried to take out his team a number of times over; at least in that instance, he could argue that Magneto had just as much to lose from the Sentinels taking over.

Magneto, his back turned now, cranes his neck to frown at the professor, arms crossed. "Is it so difficult to believe that I feel the same way about you?" he says simply, and Charles sighs.

"No. I just ... I suppose I just needed to hear it voiced aloud." With a soft groan, he stands and brushes the dirt from his khakis as best he can. His feet throb a little inside of his tight boots; other than that, he assumes he's about to spend yet another endless day running through lush jungle from certain peril.

Stooping, he picks up Magneto's cape. The other man reaches for it, but Charles says, "let me," and fastens it deftly to Magneto's broad-shouldered frame. Donning his helmet, Magneto turns to him, all business anew. "Ready for this?" he asks, taking in Charles' own lithe form appreciatively. Charles feels his face warm, but simply nods.

"Let's find out," he says, and together they fix to leave their makeshift sanctuary; and even without telepathy at his command, Charles is confident that whatever challenges they might encounter this day, both he and Magneto would agree that they stand the best chance of survival facing them head-on, together.


End file.
